


Drift Ashore

by LupinTheLegend



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Hydra Jemma Simmons, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LupinTheLegend/pseuds/LupinTheLegend
Summary: He was sitting on the beach, thinking. He was always thinking. Too much time was on his hands. And then there was a bottle, a message, and him. Of course he would do what he had to. No matter whether she would love him back or not, he loved her and love was all he knew how to give.Ficlet.





	Drift Ashore

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story from my old account (I had to get a new one). Don't ask why because you'll get a long answer.
> 
> Anyway, I was thinking of a way to make a more dystopian SHIELD world (this was before the LMD Season 4, during Season 2), and I thought, 'Why not make Jemma Simmons brainwashed?' So, I did. I feel really bad for Fitz, though. Kudos to anyone who can read between the lines because there was a lot in here that I left out as sort of a guessing game for you, the reader.

Breezy.

Cold.

Such an odd day to be going to the beach… and yet, he was there, watching waves wash ashore. He sat, knees bent, with a hand clutched around each shin, a worn out look in his eyes. The now middle-aged man gazed up at the sun, squinted, and then lay his forehead on his pointed knees. His ears slid in between bent joints, and there he sat, looking at the sand… thinking… mourning….

Its grains were not small, and were not grains of a pale, off-white color. No, he was sitting on a fake beach, surrounded by little pebbles, large stones, and giant rocks. He'd collected several fossils off this beach for Jemma, even after the downturn, the sudden sway of fidelity, the sudden sensation of his knuckles meeting her new lover’s face and the sound of his face slapping the floor. He’d never sent a punch flying through the air that felt so needed, powerful, and right. 

He didn't know what was happening then.... He thought he knew now.

Leopold Fitz didn't miss her. He no longer need to see her face, a face riddled with time, age, and bitterness. The woman he’d loved had lost the curiosity in her eyes as soon as she joined Coulson’s team. Jemma had forced him to join, too. Back then he would of done anything for her.

If only he hadn't told her how he had felt. Was it always her job to hurt him; was it always his job to hurt?

Clouds filled the sky. A mist ghosted its silhouette across the ocean. The burnt orange sun disappeared behind a haze of purple, pink, and red. Fitz inclined his head, watching a bottle bob up and down in the salted water. Following it with a curious gaze, he wiped his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and pushed himself off the uneven ground. With unloved hands, he dusted himself off. Index finger removing ear wax from his ear in a mechanical motion, it was as if he was trying to connect his body to his brain. People recognized it as a habit of his; he did not comprehend why they would.

Fitz didn't understand why he was so entranced by a bottle, either.

As it drifted closer, Fitz stepped into the shoreline, his socks, loafers, and trouser hems becoming wet. The glass container, empty of any drink, lodged itself in the sand a meter to his left. There was a rolled piece of paper inside. It appeared to be nice stationary.

Curious. How would a bottle happen to wash up on the beach like this? He'd heard of it happening, but never quite believed it.

He stood with his hand wrapped around the bottle’s bottom, and he turned it upside down, the container’s lips kissing Fitz’s fingers as he struggled to peel the letter from the small hole. He tore the fragile paper’s edge, and a sudden necessity came over him -- not a craving, not a curiosity. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, and he sensed it. He could feel her cries for help. The crumpled and drenched paper passed through the bottle’s lips, and as he read it he didn't realize he had stopped breathing. One gasp and those hazel eyes filled with tears, he dropped the bottle on the ground and clutched the note tight in his left hand.

He would save her. He had to. Love was madness. Even if the person you loved would never love you back, love was the need to protect a certain person at all costs. He loved her, even still, and so he would save her even if she did not remember his face.

Fitz had to find her, or die trying.

Letting go of the note written in her pristine handwriting, he watched it glide away in the crisp breeze.

Its words were memorized in his mind from all those times before, “Hail Hydra.”


End file.
